January 27, 2018

Aunt Cely and the cousins

Age 65

V. was looking out the back porch at the hills. The clouds were as white against the
blue sky as a postcard. It seemed to be a scream of hope and happiness glaring as if
to say “you better be happy damn it”. No excuses here. We gave you everything you
asked for so what is your problem? It was always like her mothers voice sneering
and disgusted in her head and never ending. The doom was backing that lay in her
chest always waiting to pounce. Laying there dormant ready at any moment waitng
for what is next. It could envelop her with a flick of an unwanted memory or a smell
that reminding her of anguish.

The view off the back porch was beautiful. There was nothing but hills and sky
spread before her. This was her sanctuary. But even paradise could never
completely null the nagging fear that peace could be broken once again by a waiting
monster. She tried to sooth her inner voices by feeling the air and light as she finally
succumbed to peace. This morning ritual -meeting the day and trying to make a
bargain with whatever lay ahead. She had learned long ago to indulge these
moments to allow the bliss of pure pleasure to envelop her.

It could be a fleck of light on her arm from the hanging crystals or the hummingbird
sucking sugar water from the feeder. It was a perfect moment until the next bout of
suffering.

When the phone rang her mind went to hope, happiness and dread all in sequence.
It couldn’t have been more accurately staged if it had been planned. A flat and
staccato voice that she rarely heard greeted her on the other line. The next start of a
family chapter. The voice began “We are having a memorial for our mother. Can you
come”? The voice from her cousin did waste time on pleasantries or beyond how are
you? It may be from her job as a criminal investigator.

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“The memorial is at blah blah Church next Saturday at 1:00. Can you come?”

“Will my sisters be there?’

“No- I am not sure.”

“If my sisters are there I won’t come.”

“Ok – I will get Back to you”

V. went back to her porch and started to arrange her potted plants. There were
begonias that she had started from cuttings that were bursting with color. Her
favorites hung in full bloom. She sat down where the porch faced the hills and
thought about her Aunt Celie. She hadn’t seen her cousins since her mother’s
memorial 10 years ago. Aunt Celia had taunted her about her long died blond hair
and followed her around asking if she had “extensions”. She had finally collapsed
into a chair next to her favorite cousin Jan, her daughter. V. turned her back on her
aunt sitting 3 inches away turned away from Aunt Celie who kept repeating her
question and asked “ what is an extension?” Jan answered, “she wants to know if
that is your real hair?” V. said ”tell her it is”.

Two days later Lanie called to say that the sisters were not coming after all. This
would have been the first time she had seen them since they had cooperated with
her dying mother to disinherit her.
It was agreed that she come. She told her cousin that if the sisters showed up she
would leave after the service a not stay for the reception.

V. Chose a dress sophisticated but comfortable and hoped it looked like it was from
Paris and not a high-end consignment store.

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The weather was perfect and clear as she took the 101 souths away from San Jose.
The landscape changes suddenly opening up to rolling hills and grass taupe before
the rains. Farms spread on both sides of the freeway. The terrain changing making
evident as she turned inland towards the familiar trek toward the ocean. There had
never been a reason to stop off at one of the small villages along the way to the
Monterey Coast. She followed the map turning into the small town of Castroville.
The smells of distantly familiar spices and roasted meat floated by the modest well-
kept houses and yards. The town looked as though it was built before the 1940’s.
The church was a small cathedral, which looked like a familiar site in Mexico.

After finding parking place with an easy exit and not too close or too far away, she
walked up to the heavy doors to open them. It was impressive inside with a large
cavernous room nearly filled with people. She had timed her arrival perfectly
knowing she was the last to arrive. She chose a seat in the back with a view of all the
participants spotting her sisters. They were two rows from the front off to the far
left. This gave her a wide-angle view and an easy escape out the back. No one had
seen her so she could assess the situation and relax for a moment.

It was a pageant of pleasantries from devoted church friends who congratulated my

aunt’s dutiful church attendance and community service. This was her home church
and she had an excellent reputation with good friends. It was apparent that her Aunt
Celie was comfortable in this community and church, which was glaringly Mexican.
Had she not denied her ethnicity for her entire 92 years to her family of white
relatives? She had announced herself as “Spanish” with a hostile vengeance and a
glare in her eyes accusing the girl of 12 to never broach the subject again. This was
in close proximity to the question about her father being possibly Jewish which
received a quick and rather violent reprimand about being a troublemaker bringing
up subjects, which were nothing but trouble. Geez

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Having finally gotten my DNA report two months ago at the age of 65 I am finally
able to know the truth. 50% Western European, 22% Ashkenazi Jewish, 19%
Spanish and 9% Greek. Took long enough to find out.